Unintended consequences, or, how I gained 15 minutes of fame for accidentally writing a gay anthem...

There are a few universal truths in life which are indisputable: you can't escape death and taxes; a watched pot never boils; corporate lawyers are spiritually and emotionally dead; there's nowt so queer as folk.

A little over a week ago, I awoke and logged on to the interwebs, to check email, Facebook, and a few other sites before getting on with my day. One of the more masochistic aspects of my morning web regime is checking my SoundCloud account, a typically thankless task which never fails to remind me that I make music for my own enjoyment rather than attention or adulation. I typically find a number of listens in the single digits over the preceding 24 hours, or, if I'm lucky, in the low teens. Last Sunday, however, I saw over 200 listens overnight, all to the same track - "Truckstop of Your Love," a cornball country parody of Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love."



The torrent of listens continued into Monday/Tuesday, and then gradually faded away over the rest of last week. As at this writing, the track has had over 970 listens, 90% of which have occurred during the past week. By contrast, the next-most-listened-to song in my site has 136 listens.

So, what could be behind the sudden viral popularity of this inane little track? A resourceful friend did some Googling and emailed me to inform me that a link to the song had been posted to a blog. I would post a link, but this is no ordinary blog, being devoted to, er, well, ahem, aficionados of mens' rooms in truck stops. If you're not into that sort of thing, I wouldn't want to inflict it on you, and if you are, then surely you can find it yourself.

There, among countless photos of well-endowed young gay men urinating in truck stops across the country, suddenly pops up my humble song. I confess that I am somewhat baffled, given that my lyrics are plainly about a waitress, but maybe there's some sort of crypto-transvestite vibe there of which I was not previously aware.

Anyway, I guess fans are fans, and I shouldn't complain. Keep on truckin', girls!